


Glorfindel Drabbles

by elluvias



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Lots of random drabbles, and glorious, and how i headcanon him to be, dealing with glorfindel, elves are not sane, especially the older ones, mainly insane, which is more than a bit insane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elluvias/pseuds/elluvias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little snippets and fics from my generally ongoing sprawling general headcanon of Glorfindel, who in my head is manic brillant powerful and very very queer in all meanings of the word.</p>
<p>This may or may not eventually have mentions of ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and/or a host of potentially unpleasant and triggery things. I will put in the summary of each chapter any potential triggers a chapter will have inside it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As The Fall Began

He led them to their death. They were his House, his family, his friends, and they would all die to buy the others time. Gondolin was going to fall, there would be no saving their beloved city, no chance at victory. There would only be death. Yet for every minute they delayed Morgoth’s forces, there was a chance that the children could escape, that the civilians could get to safety.

Gondolin would fall, but they would make them pay. Every bloody inch of ground they gained would be a terrible price for Morgoth’s forces. Every soldier who advanced would have to step upon the corpses of those before them. Every new enemy would see his comrades dying left and right.

Gondolin would fall and death was inevitable, but the House of Golden Flowers would burn the shadows before they turned to dust.

“My brothers! My friends! The day is dark, the stars are shrouded, and I will not lie to you, we will be drinking together in Mandos’ halls this evening. The shadows have fallen on Gondolin and she will be lost. Our city, our home will naught be ruins and ash in the face of Morgoth’s forces. 

Look, my kin, to what he has brought to this fight! Look at what he has decided he needs to bring to destroy us. Do not look at this in despair! Laugh! Laugh at what our enemy needs to bring about our ruin! Laugh at the foolhardy mistake he is making! He brings his greatest weapons, he brings his most powerful forces, does he think that we are rabbits to be easily swayed, to be easily frightened and turn our back so he may slay us? Morgoth does not know us! Morgoth has made a mistake he will regret for the rest of his pitiful life! We will not cower! We will not flee! We will make them pay for every inch they gain. We will make these dark bastards weep, for they may win the battle but it will not be a victory! They will not revel in our destruction! We may lose the battle but we will have victory on this eve! 

We will give our families time to escape. We will give our loved ones a chance for life. Morgoth wants us to be eradicated. Morgoth wants us to fall into nothingness! We will not let him! There will be survivors! There will be life for our children! He will have failed! He will fail! Gondolin will fall! We, my brothers, will die! But our children will survive! Our children will carry on! There will be a future! 

There is no surrender! There is no retreat! The House of The Golden Flowers will bring light to the darkness! We will burn brighter than any star before we die! 

Now take up your arms! Glorquesse! _GLORQUESSE_! _**GLORQUESSE**_!”


	2. Do Not Speak To Me Of Dragonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A what if Thorin Oakenshield had tried to sass Glorfindel.

Glorfindel’s hand grasped Thorin’s tunic, blue eyes narrowed as his lips pulled back into an almost feral snarl. Something bright and glittering flitted through the deep almost unnatural sapphire of the elf’s eyes, like specks of gold dust swept through the Running River. His teeth were bright and unnaturally sharp, or perhaps they were as sharp as they were supposed to be because Thorin could not remember seeing an elf smile so wide as to see their teeth and Thranduil’s snarls had never bared so much as what Glorfindel was showing.

Perhaps his anger had made him tread too far.

"You are not the only one who has witnessed dragonfire, Thorin Oakenshield."

The elf’s voice was heavy and ancient and full of power Thorin had only ever associated with the Istari. It was like a gale ripping through the leaves of a forest, a flock of a hundred birds taking wing at once, like the great warning bells of old tolling out a warning, the ocean’s waves in the midst of a storm. It was beautiful as it was terrifying in its scope, his voice penetrated skin and bone and grasped at the soul of a person.

"I know its wrath, and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North."

Thranduil, Thranduil had said similar words to Thorin before. It roused the dwarven king’s anger. This elf could have helped (and it didn’t matter if he had been in Rivendell at the time, he could have done something). Thorin began to open his mouth, began to inhale to argue back.

"And I faced their monstrous forebears. I fought in the War of Wrath, I watched Gondolin fall as a dozen serpents three times Smaug’s size descended upon my people. Shall I describe to you the screams of the friends and family I lost upon that day? Or perhaps you would love to hear of the Final Battle? There were dragons there too that killed elves, dwarves, men, and maiar alike. Do not speak to me as if I do not know. For I do, I know for I have _seen_ the horrors of **dragons**.”

Glorfindel cut him off, the golden flecks in his sapphires eyes growing brighter in each moment, connecting together. Thorin felt his heart seize in his chest as images assaulted him, flashes of dragons in a range of colors, great and terrible machines of war that eclipsed Smaug in power and size.

"Do not insinuate that we did nothing to help. The Sindar failed you while Rivendell housed your people when you fought in Moria. It was you who left, you who chose to keep separate after that disaster. Your anger and your grief rewrites your memories Thorin, son of Thrain.”


	3. After A Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during the War of the Elves and Sauron or the War of the Last Alliance

His hair is starlight. It tumbles across his shoulders gold and silver and white mixing together, twined together to give the long locks an incandescent sheen. He is golden for his hair contains all the shades of that precious metal, it shifts with the light, shimmering, almost shining. His eyes are gold in the more traditional sense. His presence would overwhelm, grasping the hearts of mortals and ensnaring them much like what his twin supposedly does, if it weren’t for a single thing.

He is not distant, he is not removed nor is unapproachable. He holds himself not like a lord, a son of kings, an elf with blood so noble that he should be a ruler. He is instead loud and brash, with exaggerated emotions for an elf, but for mortals it is normal. He is charming and disconcerting in his atypical nature, and it makes them forget the exquisite beauty that he holds, for there is too much else distracting everyone else from it.

It is only now, as he stands silent and still, eyes turned Southward that they understand what is amongst them. That all inhale and realize that he is more than just an emissary or a soldier, that there is something inside him that is greater than all else they have seen. Standing there amongst the bloody broken bodies of the battlefield, framed by the setting sun, his beauty is undeniable, his blood so obvious now. He turns then, to his kindred, a sad faint smile on his face with eyes ancient in their sorrow.

"I am not yet done."


	4. How To Summon Balrogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Glorfindel managed to get the Balrog to focus on him. Also there is a small debate whether Ecthelion's spirit is talking to him or Glorfindel is hallucinating.
> 
> Also gratuitous Evolution references

Glorfindel was going to have words with Morgoth one day. Words, many many words. Wanting to exchange words with someone was a helpful euphemism he and Ecthelion had come up with during one of the longer more drawn out council meetings. It had roughly translated into ‘I wish to inflict grievous bodily harm upon this individual and likely place a myriad of uncomfortable and highly creative objects in orifices in which these uncomfortable and highly creative objects are not particularly meant to go’. Tuor had smiled at them, grateful they were no longer terrifying the others, then. Tuor would likely smile and huff out a laugh he couldn’t contain if he knew were Glorfindel’s thoughts had wandered.

But Tuor was at the head of the column of refugees, too far away from Glorfindel to give his king his inappropriate thoughts in a vain attempt of keeping his heart light. No one’s heart could truly be light in the situation they were in. Not with their hom burning behind them and so many many dead. The amount of civilians they had managed to get out of Gondolin proper was less than Glorfindel had hoped and more than he had feared. The few warriors left were scattered amongst the civilians, leaving no part of the column unprotected. Though the strongest were placed at the beginning and end. Tuor at the head and Glorfindel at the rear.

Suddenly rocks were being hurled down upon them. Not small rocks, but those the size of Glorfindel’s fist and larger, aimed down upon the survivors. Rocks that were meant to slow their progression at best if not outright kill at worst. A rumbling sound came from behind them, a sound as if the mountains themselves had begun to move. Twas a sound that Glorfindel feared. A sound that was far away at the moment, but not far enough. Never ever far enough.

"GO! GO! GO!"

Glorfindel screamed shoving the civilians ahead of him forward. He herded them onwards, pushing them despite their hesitance of going through the rocky gauntlet. Rocks were nothing compared to what terror he knew was coming behind them. When he was certain that the last of the stragglers were running, spurred into haste by the urgency of Glorfindel’s voice alone (for they had not understood what was behind them yet, and that knowledge was something that Glorfindel hoped to keep from them for a few moments longer), the elf lord turned unsheathing his swords.

Nimbly climbing up the mountainside Glorfindel hoisted himself on a ledge. Taking in a deep breath Glorfindel cupped his hands to his face. “CA-CAW! CA-CAW! CA-CAW! AH AH EE EE TOOKIE TOOKIE! CACACACACACA-CAW!”

_Glorfindel, I thought we had established ‘Ca-caw ca-caw and Tookie Tookie’ don’t work._ Glorfindel could practically feel Ecthelion beside him, blue eyes focused on him and wholly unimpressed. It was an illusion, of course, of his own mind. Ecthelion was not beside him, Ecthelion lay dead and broken in the ruins of the city they had once called home. Ecthelion had laid his life down so the others could escape, so Glorfindel could escape to protect the survivors.

"Just give me a chance. It worked with the dragons." Glorfindel muttered under his breath.

_It did NOT work with the dragons. You tried that first and they didn’t rouse from their hiding places._

"They came soon enough."

_After yo-_

Glorfindel ignored the spectre with a manic feral grin and took in a deep breathe once more. He pitched his voice loud, as he made a conscious effort to hit every note off key.

“ ** _Melmë nóren sina_  
** **_núra ala Eäro nur  
 ** _Ilfirin nairelma  
 ** _ullumë nucuvalmë  
 ****_** _Nauva i nauva”__**_**

He drew the last note out, a high pitched horrifically mangled warble. One that echoed in the pass’ walls and likely could be heard by a few of the refugees. There was a pause of silence from the rumbling terror approaching before a roar echoed, filled with rage and purpose.

_Now you have done it._

"You did always say my single greatest talent was being the bane of everyone’s existence."

_Only you, YOU, could manage to offend a balrog. I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done._

"They will write tales of this moment, my friend. Lord Glorfindel: The Elf Who Offended A Balrog. It will be a tale to tell, a wonderful legend to leave."

_You’re mad._

"I never argued otherwise." Glorfindel grinned manically at thin air, his golden eyes gleaming as his gathered all that he was, that he had been, and could ever be. He shined with the golden light of his soul, a star ready to fall in fire and brilliance. Illuminating Arda for one last time.

"CA-CAW CA-CAW!"

He screamed diving off the ledge. Ready to face the shadow for one final time.


End file.
